


Love Lock

by truth_renowned



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_renowned/pseuds/truth_renowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: Peggy and Daniel visit that one bridge in Paris with the locks on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Lock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [watcherofworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watcherofworlds/gifts).



> Some background: The bridge is the Pont des Arts bridge in Paris, and until recently, it had millions of locks on the railings, standing as the symbols of love (”love locks”) of so many couples. The locks started appearing on the bridge in 2008. There’s a great article about it at https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/feb/14/the-lock-of-love-padlocks-on-bridges.

_Pont des Arts Bridge_  
_Paris_  
_September 2008_

She pushes the wheelchair slowly across the bridge, the wheels making a clicking noise over the wood slats. Neither of them is in any particular hurry, even though there is a brisk breeze coming off the Seine.

The blanket has fallen from his shoulders, so she stops and steps in front of him to pull the warm wool back in its place. He catches cold so easily these days.

“We can stop here,” he says, taking her hand.

“Absolutely not. We’re going to the middle.”

“Why? Here is just fine. That way you don’t have to push me any further.”

“Daniel, I may not be as spry as I once was, but I can still push you around.”

He chuckles. “That you can, Peg.”

“I meant in the wheelchair,” she says, brushing a curl from his wrinkled forehead.

“I didn’t.” His always-expressive eyes shined with amusement.

“We’re going to the middle.” She steps around the back of the wheelchair and starts pushing him again, taking up her slow pace until they reach the center of the pedestrian bridge.

She wheels him so that the chair is up against the bridge’s railing, then she bends down and sets the brake on one of the wheels. “Do you have it?”

From under the blanket, he produces what she asked for: a simple gold padlock, the key sticking out of the bottom. In their granddaughter’s perfect script, ‘Peggy & Daniel’ is written in black ink on one side of the lock’s surface; on the other side is written ‘60 years’.

She holds his cold hands briefly before taking the lock. As she turns the key, the shackle pops up on one side. He reaches out and holds the lock with her, and they place it on one of the chain-link diamonds making up the lattice on the railing. As he holds the bottom, she pushes the shackle down, securely locking it.

“There,” she says, taking his hand. “Now Paris will know that we were here.”

He brings their hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “But they won't know that I love you more today than I did when you pushed me in that other chair.”

She fights a smile while trying to look stern. “I didn't push you. You fell backwards. And besides, that was decades ago.”

“Feels like yesterday to me.”

She leans down and brushes her lips over his. They hold hands and look out over the Seine. The breeze has stopped, calming the waving of the water to minute ripples. The sun is low on the horizon, almost kissing the surface of the river.

“We should go,” he says after several minutes. “Margie will be worried if we don’t get back to the hotel before dark.”

“Your granddaughter inherited your worrying.”

“And she inherited your stubbornness.”

“Poor child,” she says with a smile.

“She’s a good child, or adult, really. She just turned thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five already?” She shakes her head. “I'd forgotten that.”

“Face it, Peg. We're old.”

“Rubbish.”

But she knows he is right. His health has been failing the past year, prompting her to tender her resignation with SHIELD. Their remaining time together was far too precious to her to be spent behind a desk.

“Let's get out of this cold,” she says, turning the wheelchair around.

As she pushes the chair, she glances at the sprinkling of other locks on the metal lattice. So many locks on this bridge. The feeling of love here is palpable, though not nearly as palpable as the love she has had and always will have for this man.


End file.
